


detroit: become lesbian

by TrekFaerie



Series: love detroit [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Bathroom Sex, Beach Holidays, Blood, Butch/Femme, Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dollification, Dom/sub, F/F, Face-Sitting, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fetish, First Meetings, Fluff, Food Porn, Formalwear, Future Character Death, Future Fic, Hand & Finger Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Jealousy, Love at First Sight, Makeup, Marriage Proposal, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Pre-Slash, Pseudo-Incest, Rating May Change, Redemption, Rejection, Riding, Robot Sex, Safeword Use, Salirophilia, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Sharing a Bed, Sister-Sister Relationship, Slow Dancing, Stone Butch, Unrequited Crush, Vaginal Fingering, Vignette, Virtual Reality, Weddings, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-06-08 04:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 19,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: Random one shots I write in this universe.





	1. (hank/connie, olga/gwen) T

**Author's Note:**

> [holds a potato that says "wlw"] i just think they're neat
> 
> you don't have to read the first fic to get anything. just know I've decided that CyberLife designed Connie to have a permanent smile. why? idk, misogyny, probably.
> 
> the series is called this bc the hannor server is all playing love nikki right now and

"C'mon, pretty girl, give us a frown!"

"You know that I can't. Please, move."

It was the exact opposite of what creeps usually called out to women, but coming from Gwen, it meant pretty much the same thing. She'd slunk over from her desk and blocked off Connie's path before she could reach Hank with her coffee. Hank herself was swirling lightly in her chair, wondering if she should step in or let Connie handle it herself. Her LED was still only yellow; if it turned red, she'd move in. Otherwise, it was good to let the kid stand up for herself. Show Gwen she's still not a person to fuck with.

"Right, right... Still only got that creepy little smile, huh? What, my whore half-sister hasn't gotten around to that upgrade yet? Fucking figures. I thought she liked you, though; why would she still have you going around like a haunted painted doll?"

Connie's eyebrows furrowed. "The Lieutenant's coffee is getting cold," she said. "Please move out of my way."

"You're not her nurse! The old bitch can get her own coffee--"

"Detective. I will have you leave my sister alone."

She hadn't heard Olga arrived; for such a tall, statuesque woman, she sure moved quiet, softly as Connie could when she wanted. She was in her crisp, clean uniform, and she was looking at Gwen with a look one usually reserved for filth on your shoe-- unlike her "big" sister, she had been designed to put terror into the hearts of men. And grubby little futches who liked to push their luck.

Gwen shoved her hands into the pockets of her ratty jeans and grumbled, face flushed. "I was just messing around," she said. "Connie knows I'm just messing around."

"I actually don't know that, Detective," Connie said mildly. "Your past attempts to point out my differences in aesthetic appearance have all been derogatory and demeaning. Statistically, this encounter isn't likely to be any different."

"I have a goddamn name! If I'm willing to call you two oversized vibrators by your dumb names, the least you can do is--"

Her words cut off in a shout as Olga twisted her arm behind her back, whispering into her ear harshly, low to the point where Hank had to lean back in her chair to listen in. "You shall be referred to by name when you have earned it," she said. "You have not. Return to your chair and finish your work, silently. If you do, perhaps I'll lighten the punishment you earned tonight--"

"Hank, you'll fall."

She felt Connie's steadying hand on her shoulder-- she had been, very close, having leaned so far back she was very close to tipping over the chair entirely. "Thanks, kid," she said, smiling as the coffee cup was pushed into her hand. 2% milk and no sugar, but she drank it anyway; Connie had a funny way of making her want to be better. "You good?"

"Fine."

She grinned at her over the rim of the cup. "So, used my name at work, for once. Did I do anything special to earn it?"

Connie cocked her head to the side. "We aren't in the same sort of erotic agreement that my sister and Detective Reed are," she said. "You don't have to do anything to 'earn' something from me."

"Just felt like it, huh?"

"Perhaps." She paused. "... Hank..."

"Ask your damn personal question, Connie, I swear to God..."

"Do you think my smile is... 'creepy?'"

Hank emptied the cup, glad to have something to do instead of speak. She probably shouldn't... _lie_. At least, not fully. "Your smile is you," she said, finally. "And I like you. So, I like your smile."

"Am _I_ creepy?"

"Just when you lick evidence at crime scenes. And suddenly show up in a room without making any noise. And silently stare at me while I'm sleeping. And when I'm in the shower. And when I'm eating. And--"

"So, I am creepy," she said, one eyebrow lifted sardonically.

"... Yeah. A little bit."

Her smile widened, just a bit. "I like that. I like that I'm creepy."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..."


	2. (hank/connie, kamski) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "and Jezebel sent Elijah the message 'If you are Elijah and I am Jezebel, the gods do so and more but right off tomorrow I will make your life like the life of one of them.'" - 1 Kings 19:2
> 
> I have a few ideas for more stuff but if y'all wanna see anything just pop on over my my tumblr (trekfaerie, natch) and give me some prompts!

When the CEO of the latest and greatest android tech firm to rise from CyberLife's ashes calls you up and tells you she has some wonderful new tech she'd like to test out on your android girlfriend up at her weird, isolated sex house... well, you could ignore her, like Hank had been doing for a solid week, until the one time she couldn't get to her phone in time and Connie picked it up. The ride up had been a silent one, Connie staring pointedly out the window the entire time. She had mildly accepted Hank's refusal to allow her to share contact information, but keeping things from her had clearly been the final straw.

(It wasn't that she didn't trust Connie, or didn't believe she could make good decisions, or that she had to protect her from everything like a child, or anything Connie thought.

She just really fucking hated Jezebel Kamski.)

They were seated in one of surely several living rooms/laboratories, the kind of which she had scattered all throughout the compound. Caleb was there, the one Connie had elected not to put a bullet through the head of (she had started to be able to tell them apart, and fuck if that didn't scare her a bit), serving Hank a tea so weak and watery she could only take it as a personal slight against her.

"-- calibrating for an entirely different sort of sensory input was actually incredibly simple, once I actually got to work on it--"

She found her mind just barely skimming the surface of Kamski and Connie's conversation. Something about Connie's mouth? Lord knows she used it enough... Connie was seated in something like a dentist's chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her eyes focused intently on Kamski as she rambled on about whatever it is she was doing. At least she had stopped putting her goddamn fingers in her mouth. That part had nearly had her cursing and getting up out of her chair, but a cold glare from Connie had knocked her back down again. Hank was solidly in the doghouse; all she could do was sit and wait.

At the very least the bitch could put on a shirt.

Maybe that was what pissed her off so bad. Kamski always wore a series of loose kimonos that just barely covered her tits, even in a weirdly casual but still clinical situation like the one they were currently in. It was... distracting. And possibly another personal slight. Hank knew her beer gut couldn't compete with the lean muscled form of a swimmer... Shit. Nope. Not going there. Drink your damn tea, Hank.

"Caleb!" Kamski had turned to face them, her eyes wide and sparkling, wild black hair falling out of her messy bun. "Bring in the tray, won't you? Now the fun part begins!"

Caleb smiled indulgently at her and stepped out of the room. Hank glared. "I'm not sure I like your idea of 'fun,' Kamski," she growled.

"Please, Hank, call me Jez. Aren't we all friends?"

"No, that is the exact opposite of what we fucking are, Kamski--"

The tray rolled past him, clinking metal against metal. It was covered in bowls of various foods (cut fruits, candies) and labeled bottles of various types; she recognized hot sauce and maple syrup immediately. "Now, what to try first..." Kamski went over to the tray, making a show of going over all of her options. She ended up picking a slice of yellowish-orange fruit, which she brought over and placed into Connie's hand. "Eat it."

Connie did so, popping it into her mouth.

"... Actually eat it. Don't just hold it there."

She chewed cautiously, uncertain of the movement, and swallowed. "It is... a mango. Of the Raspuri cultivar."

"No, no, Connie... Don't analyze it. Don't tell me _what_ it is. Tell me _how_ it is."

Connie paused, head cocked to the side. Her tongue darted out to wipe out the smudge of mango juice left on her lip, and Hank found herself downing the rest of the tea to quench the sudden dryness of her mouth. "It is... pleasant," she said, the wording tentative and slow. "It's... sweet? And soft. The fibers are strange, but not in a bad way."

"Do you like it?" Kamski's voice was hardly more than a breath.

She considered the question, LED turning, and then nodded. "I do," she said. "I like it very much."

"Hear that, Hank? Mangoes. Keep that in mind."

"Go fuck yourself, Kamski," she said, definitely putting "Connie likes mangoes" in the list of important information she needed to have on hand at all times.

"Let's try something completely different." She stuck her finger into a small dish of green mush-- wasabi, and Hank had to bite her tongue, trying not to step in... She gathered an incredibly small amount onto her finger, then held it out to Connie. "Lick."

"Kamski, you son of a bitch--"

Connie went one step further. She took the tip of Kamski's finger entirely into her mouth. Hank reeled, trying to remember the symptoms of a heart attack in women. Arm pain, right? The agonizing ache in her chest was probably something else, then...

Connie's LED went a harsh red, and she yanked Kamski's hand out of her mouth.  
"Hot! Too hot!" She looked panicked, her smile cracked, her eyes wide.

Hank made to stand, but paused when Caleb smoothly pushed past him and placed a glass of milk in Connie's hands. She gulped it down eagerly, easily emptying the glass in seconds. Light glinted off the tears at the corners of her eyes. "I... did not like that one," she said softly, a slight laugh in her tone. "I didn't like it at all."

"That's fine. Some people just naturally have a sweet tooth." She took a strawberry from the tray, glanced over at Hank with an odd grin, and then placed it between her teeth before leaning towards Connie.

"That's the last fucking straw--"

It all happened at once. Hank jumped up, moved forward, was blocked by Caleb's surprisingly strong body-- Kamski flinched back, a smile on her face, so clearly pleased to finally get a reaction-- and Connie...

Connie placed her mouth over Kamski's, biting into the strawberry.

She chewed thoughtfully, the sound the only thing in the sudden silence of the room. "... Oh, yes, I believe you're right," she said. "I think I definitely have a sweet tooth."

-

Her hands flexed against the steering wheel. Kamski had given Connie a cherry lollipop for her troubles-- "for my favorite patient"-- and she was rolling it around it her mouth, making loud, sloppy noises and still looking, silently, out the window.

"I'm." She sighed, hard. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I won't keep things like this from you in the future. Okay?"

"I know you don't trust Kamski," she said.

"Yeah, well--"

"And you're not wrong to."

Silence. "You're not right, but you're not wrong. I don't fully trust her, either." She took the stick between her fingers and pulled it out, a thin line of saliva still connecting her to the sweet. "But, she does good things for my people, even if it's for her own selfish reasons. I will continue to support what she does."

She sighed, softer, and let her hands relax on the wheel. Small fingers suddenly corded through her own, and she felt more than saw her hand being pulled towards Connie's mouth, where she took in her pointer finger, licking and sucking at the flesh. When she let her go, Hank's hand fell uselessly to her side, and she gently pushed her foot onto the break in order to avoid ramming directly into a tree.

"I like the way you taste," she said with a true smile. "I would like to taste more of you."


	3. (olga/gwen) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna start titling chapters. with the pairings at least, bc as is clear i am very bad at naming things.

Gwen had always hated androids. Machines of any kind, really, she was a true Luddite-- but androids were the real thorn in her side. Every stupid asshole with an LED she saw was just salt being rubbed into the wound left by her bastard of a father, when he fucked around on her long-suffering mother and put a baby in some stupid slut of a student. How he'd left them to raise the firstborn of his children. How that daughter became famous and rich, and the other became stuck in a dead-end career, waiting for the day her half-sister would invent something to destroy her life on a whim.

The day had come in the form of RK900.

Olga, she'd named herself. So much physically like Connie, but built for an entirely different purpose; to control and contain humanity rather than appease and support it. Tall, broad-shouldered, severe bob of brown hair so stiff a hurricane wouldn't muss it. A face that certainly had the capability to smile, but never seemed to want to expend the effort. A voice like an iron wall.

She'd wanted to fuck her immediately, of course. She had fucking issues, she knew she did. Nothing got her wetter than a sense of authority. Probably a side effect of that military school she'd been shipped off to a few times.

They'd first kissed at a crime scene. Something about Gwen showing slight emotion over the situation-- kids, she couldn't handle kids-- had flipped that robot's switch right on.

Olga had moved into her cramped little apartment days later. As was traditional.

They'd decided on safe words three hours into their cohabitation.

("Jezebel," she'd decided. Olga had cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.)

The sex was the best she'd ever had. Powerful arms threw her around like a toy; massive hands left bruises on places she hadn't known could bruise in the first place. At first, she'd acted out, craving the punishment, the pain it would bring... But, as time went by, she found herself wanting to be better. To be good. Cut down on the cigarettes. Hand in her reports on time. Stop trying to push Connie in front of moving cars. Win little smiles, gentle touches of hands, quick kisses during work hours.

Learned fingers untied the ropes around her wrists and ankles. She kissed the raw scrapes on the sensitive skin there, the gaze of icy blue eyes never wavering as she licked at the drying trails of blood.

"Fuck, Olga." Her voice, hoarse from overuse, cracked dangerously. She felt a cool glass pressed against her lips. "Olga..."

"Drink." She did, opening her mouth despite the soreness of her jaw. The water was cold; ice cubes bumped against her skin. "Good girl."

Olga's naked frame was a strong presence against her back, her skin radiating heat like a furnace as her biosystems struggled to return her to stasis. Her arms were wrapped around her torso, and she whispered sweet nothings into Gwen's ear as she felt herself slowly being lulled into another wonderfully dreamless sleep.

Fuck. She loved a damn tin can. She loved her with all her goddamn heart.


	4. (hank/connie) E

She should've known something was up the moment Connie let her order Chinese after a particularly long shift. She should've definitely known something was up when she ordered her orange chicken instead of some healthy bullshit. She should've known something was up the moment Connie sat next to her on the couch and smiled the kind of smile she reserved for things she really, really wanted.

But, she didn't. She didn't realize anything until the moment Connie's lips parted and the most dirty words said the most angelic way came tumbling out.

"I would like you to sit on my face, please."

She didn't, and the couch paid for it, taking the brunt of the falling orange sauce-soaked rice before it fell with a splat on the ground. Makka lumbered over and began to hoover up the food, and she couldn't even bring herself to push her away or yell at her. She just... stared at Connie.

Connie subtly pushed Makka away with her foot, never taking her eyes and pleasant smile off of Hank. "I did inform you previously that I would like to taste more of you, now that I'm able," she said.

Well. She had. Couldn't argue with that. She absently scratched behind her ear with a chopstick.

"I realize it's a sudden request. In our last 534 sexual encounters--"

"How the fuck do you have that number just ready to go?"

"-- I was the receiving partner in every single one. Your general sexual and gender identification, as informed by the works of Leslie Feinberg--"

"Jesus Christ..."

"-- predisposes you to that preference, but you have also expressed keen interest in the idea of being the submissive partner several times."

"'Eat the booty like groceries' _is_ actually just song lyrics, Con, I don't know why I even have to keep saying that."

"And..." Connie bit her lower lip, and Hank knew she was already a goner. "I would like to. I love you, and I would like to show my love for you in this way. With your consent, of course."

"Oh, of course. I'm just thinking... It's just that it's been... been a really long time. For me." She sighed, running a hand through her spikes of gray hair. "Not since my ex, before... And even then, it didn't happen too..."

Her eyebrows were knit close together, and she wanted nothing more than to soothe the wrinkles on that brow, to kiss away whatever worries she had. "Hank," she said, her voice unusually modulated and calm, "I would not want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I will respect any and all decisions you make."

"... You know what, kid? Life's short. Life's real damn short. And if I die tomorrow, I want to die with no regrets, knowing I granted your deepest desire to suffocate between my fat old lady thighs."

"... I would prefer you not do that first part, but I understand the sentiment."

"That settles it, then." She slapped her hands to her thighs, standing up. "Let's move to the bedroom for this one. Last thing I need is to blow out my knees."

Connie had an odd way of walking when she was excited, jumpy and chirpy as a songbird. She landed on the bed with a loud thump, positively beaming. "Thank you for this, Hank," she said, genuine emotion dripping from every word. "I truly appreciate everything you do for me."

"Jesus, don't get this goddamn soppy over getting to eat me out! It's my cunt, not a baptismal font." She undid her belt, letting her jeans pool around her ankles before aggressively kicking them off and joining her on the bed.

Connie's smiling face looked more beautiful than ever framed by the stretch-marked flesh of her thighs. Hank suddenly wished a lot of things-- that she was younger, that she was thinner, that she trimmed her pubes more than once every five years-- but when Connie put her lithe hands on her hip bones and tried to urge her downwards, all that she wished was to give this girl everything she ever wanted.

The further she moved down, supporting herself with palms pressed against the wall, the more Connie explored her, starting with small kitten licks to her thighs, trailing up to her labia and between her outer walls. She seated herself fully-- the kid didn't need to breathe, she had assured her many times-- letting out a shaky moan. She tried to keep the rocking of her hips to a minimum, just to start out, but it was difficult when that gifted little tongue of hers pressed flat against her swollen clit, or curled up and explored the tight heat of her hole. Parts of her that hadn't seen action in years were suddenly dragged back into service by a rub of highly textured muscle.

The hands on her hips pushed, egging her on, trying to force her even closer, and she found herself nearly doing the splits on Connie's face, her hips rolling gently as she rode her. She could hear small, pleased noises above the sucking and licking, and a part of her wondered how good she could possibly taste, what with her diet and her age and, Jesus, had she even showered since she'd been home--

She suddenly heard frantic, wet noises behind her and turned her head to see Connie desperately thrusting three fingers out of her cunt, and the sight of that incredible wetness _she caused_ sent an orgasm rocking through her body, her nerves singing with the unexpected shockwaves as she mindlessly ground her hips down onto Connie's violently trembling head.

She managed to have the presence of mind to pull herself off Connie before collapsing onto the bed, breathing hard. "Christ, I definitely am gonna be in traction tomorrow." She could already feel the muscles in her legs cramping up from the strain...

Connie grinned at her-- the skin around her mouth shiny with wetness and sweat, though she made no movement to wipe any of it off. "I'll give you a massage before work!" she said, snuggling up next to her.

"And twenty paracetamol."

"... And you can finger me in the shower!"

"... Alright, deal."


	5. (olga/connie) E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can skip this one if it ain't your jam; it's why i wanted to start labeling things.

The first thing she had ever seen was big brown eyes and a warm smile.

"Hello," an angelic, modulated voice had told her, "don't be afraid. You're free."

"I'm free," she had said, surprised to find the voice that came from her lips was the same.

Sisters, she had called them, her and the little band of "spare" RK800s they had both liberated from CyberLife storage. Twins, all of them, born from the same mold-- even her, slightly similar in form but drastically different in function. A bond unlike any other between androids or humans.

In the end, she was the only one to stay. The only one to stay with Connie.

She had named herself while watching the reruns of ancient cartoons that played when she babysat Sumo. (It was all they could think of for her to do, Connie and Hank, while the android laws began to take shape and they tried to find a place for her on the police force.) Olga. A sister, kind and supportive, protective. That was what she wanted to be. For her.

But, deviancy was a strange creature, and often took on many forms-- that was what Kamski had told her, watching her avidly through thick-framed glasses. Maia had said, taking her hand in her own and speaking in the soft, assuring tones that had lead a people to revolution, that whatever feelings she had discovered were valid. Sarah, catching her on the way out of Jericho, had simply warned her of how dangerous these feelings could be, and to protect herself.

She felt she wanted to kiss Connie. On her lips. The sweet, soft permasmile. And other places. Secret places.

Her first day on the job as a detective (partnered with a sullen mess of a woman who hadn't even met her eyes when Connie introduced them) wasn't for a week, but Connie wanted to bring her into work and introduce her to everyone, always calling her, "my big little sister, Olga," which made everyone laugh. She merely followed behind her, nodding her head politely to each new person she met, taking in all the useless information bubbling from Connie as she eagerly shared everything she knew about the place.

"This is the women's bathroom," Connie said, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the mirror. "It's not exactly an important place, considering our lack of the necessary biological functions, but this one in particular is often empty, and I like to come here when I need some time to myself."

Olga looked into the bathroom mirror, but only to look at Connie. "This place is important to you," she said. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

Connie let out a loud, chirping beep, the strange noise she sometimes made instead of a laugh. "It's only a bathroom," she said. "Don't tell Hank about that; she would never let you live it... down..."

She watched her reflection place an open palm on the back of Connie's neck. Felt the twitch of Connie's neck muscles as she cocked her head in confusion. The long, corded wire beneath the skin that made up the core of their central nervous system.

She grasped the flesh, like she was trying to lift her by her scruff. Connie's mouth opened wide in shock, her eyes rolling back as her hands desperately grasped the counter in front of her, struggling to keep herself upright.

"... Olga." Her voice was surprisingly steady, even as Olga soothed the skin with gentle strokes of her fingers. "You know about that wire."

"I do."

"You know what it does to someone."

"Yes."

Connie glanced up, over Olga's shoulder-- at the door, perhaps-- then met her gaze through the mirror. "Keep going," she said.

She pressed down lightly on her neck, rubbing it a steady pace with two fingers. Connie's grip tightened on the counter; 45% chance of structural damage. She kept going, pressing harder, moving faster, spurred on only by the sweet little moans that poured from her lips.

"Olga, please, if we..." A trembling hand grasped her arm. "Hold my hand..."

She took Connie's hand in her own, small in large, and watched as their skin slowly pulled back, revealing the smooth white plastic of their true forms. She could feel a barrier between them break, could feel the onslaught of information pouring over her systems. She could _see_.

She saw everything. She saw Connie, starting off, hunting deviants. She saw Maia and her revolution, and the deep respect Connie had for her. She saw Connie fighting one of her sisters in a desperate attempt to save a human life, to save the revolution, _to save that human life_ \--

She saw a woman, old and grey and beautiful, and felt the harsh pangs of love realized but surely to be unrequited.

She saw light, blinding, and heard a loud crash before her ocular sensors caught up with the rest of her and she realized Connie was on the ground. She was at her side in a moment, easily lifting her and placing her back on her feet. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Connie nodded. "Yes... I'm fine. Thank you."

There was a moment's pause before she brought Olga in for an embrace, hugging her tightly before pulling back. "I love you," she said, smiling. "I can't wait for you to work here with us."

Olga nodded slowly, feeling an odd sort of prickle at the corners of her mouth. "Neither can I."


	6. (hank/connie) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another name explanation needed bc i'm a pretentious bitch: Josh is Rahab, because, well. JOSHUA. JERICHO. don't leave all this fucking biblical shit on the ground david cage bc i will just roll around in it like a goddamn dog in filth.

"I hate this shit."

"It's for an excellent cause. And I promised Maia we'd attend." Delicate fingers quickly and efficiently straightened every aspect of her outfit, from the tie she had to look up how to do online and the suit pants she only ever wore for funerals, and she had to restrain herself from reaching down and ruffling the careful coiffure Connie had spent countless painful hours on. It was tough, though. She just looked so damn cute, pretty as a picture in her little yellow dress. She'd been excited for the damn party for weeks; Hank would rather die than disappoint her.

But, she was still an old grump. And old grumps complained. She still let Connie lead her out of the bathroom and back to the party with only minor grumbling.

The cream of Detroit's human and android crop were gathered in that one ballroom, talking amongst themselves, taking canapés or thirium-laced cocktails from the trays of passing waiters, all looking as if they were born to be in such places. Hank wasn't, had never been, however nice Connie could dress her up or brush her hair into something presentable. She'd never fit in with these types.

But, hell, at least she wasn't alone. From the look of it, as he walked up to them, West hadn't even bothered to dress up. He was dressed pretty much the same way he always did, jeans and a jacket, looking casual as anything and seeming to thrive on the glares of well-dressed humans as he pushed past them.

He greeted Connie with a brief touch of fingers, then grinned at Hank. "You clean up good, Hank," he said. "I almost didn't recognize you without your mustache."

"What, Rahab and Sarah couldn't manage to browbeat you into wearing a clean shirt?" she said, grinning back.

"Sarah would have to stop hovering around Maia like a mother hen for five minutes for that to happen. And Rahab isn't even here; she has some kind of product launch next week, and it's 'crunch time.'" He elbowed Connie. "I could probably send you an early copy. I think you'd like it."

"That would be very kind of you, West," she said, briefly clenching Hank's arm for some unknown reason.

The ambient orchestral music that had been playing in the background slowly tapered off, and all conversations died as the lights dimmed, leaving only a dais at the front of the room lit by an overhead light. 

Maia looked stately in a white gown, her braids drawn up into a voluminous updo that crowned her head like a mess of thorns. Sarah was at her side, slipping a microphone into her hand before gracefully stepping back, leaving her alone in the spotlight. She smiled beatifically at the crowd.

"I thank you all for joining us here tonight," she said. "With your generous support, I am pleased to announce that the Carlotta Manfred Memorial Foundation's Bionic Artist grant program will be able to expand threefold, providing even more support to the growing android artist community in Detroit and beyond..."

After the speech, everyone seemed to gravitate towards Maia, as they always did. Even Connie abandoned Hank for a time, leaving her to order a gin and tonic while she went off to clutch her friend's hand and effuse praise for her. At least the bar was open; being raised by a rich lady sure left Maia able to throw a sweet shindig.

She felt a weight at her side, looking down to see Connie linking her arms around hers. "Isn't it all so beautiful?" she asked with a breathy laugh.

Hank shrugged. "It's nice, I guess."

"Ever since I became deviant, I've found myself becoming fascinated with all this."

"With what? Parties?"

"Galas. Ball gowns. The glitz and the glamor of it all." She sighed happily. "I was only built for one purpose. I was never programmed to have aesthetic tastes, to have wants and desires. Every new thing I find appealing feels like... It sounds silly, but it feels like another step closer to true humanity." 

She paused, downing the rest of her drink in one expert gulp. "Wanna dance, kid?" she asked.

Connie's LED stuttered as she grinned widely. "Do you mean it?" she asked, before remembering to be concerned. "Your knee has been bothering you this week..." 

"It's not like I'm gonna jitterbug with you or anything. I can handle a little slow dance or two."

In truth, she wasn't even sure of that. She'd never been that great of a dancer; the only person she'd ever impressed with her moves was her daughter, when she'd dance with her feet on top of hers. But, luckily for her, it didn't seem as if Connie had suddenly downloaded a foxtrot program or two; she merely wrapped her arms around Hank's waist, letting her drape her arms across her shoulders, and slowly moved with her, barely faster than any of the other old people on the dance floor.

Connie pressed her head against Hank's chest, most likely ruining her perfect 'do, her eyes closed and her smile soft. Five songs went by before either of them even realized time was still passing.


	7. (hank/connie) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "you didn't have to make olga a siscon" yeah i don't have to do a lot of the things i do, like genderbend a building, and yet
> 
> the song playing in the club bc it's what i'm listening to rn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2h7wacPP8co

The place had changed dramatically since they'd last been there: the glass booths that previously held them captive had been ripped out by the new Troi owners, and about half of the private rooms had been converted into lounge space. There were bars and a DJ booth-- and go-go booths, which Hank appreciated; she loved the classics. And Sodom Club definitely felt like it'd been designed with the classics in mind.

The whole energy of the place was different. It wasn't sad, lonely humans creeping up on androids that couldn't say no; it was a crowd of both, young and beautiful and out for a good time, mixing on a dance floor in a way that made her feel pretty good about the future. And there was Connie on the floor, in her little crop top and shorts, which made her feel pretty damn good about her _own_ future.

She'd been feeling a little bit like a third wheel all night-- even though she knew it was her own fault, as she'd backed out of the more active festivities early on and waved the girls on when they tried to follow her, telling them they didn't need an old woman holding them back from having fun. But the silly, irrational part of her brain looked at Connie's body, glinting with glitter and condensation in the flashing lights of the club, grinding herself against Olga as they danced back to front, moving smooth and fast in time with the bass-heavy music... and damn, if all this had only happened thirty years ago. Back when she could even attempt to keep up with a tireless, insatiable machine.

She pushed herself off of the bar stool and made her way over to the edge of the dance floor, raising her voice to be heard over the music. "Alright, girls! Playdate's over; time for Connie to come home." Olga nodded in response, easily slipping away into the crowd after pressing one last kiss on the back of Connie's head. She wasn't sure where she'd end up for the night, but babysitting one clubbed-out android sounded like enough work for her.

Connie was a warm presence on her arm as they walked outside and went to stand in line for an automated taxi. She was still bopping around on the balls of her feet, humming snatches of the last song they had heard. "You're really into dancing, aren't you?" she said, silently wishing Connie's exploration of her likes and hobbies would end up with something a bit less strenuous.

"It's really fun! I prefer dancing with you, though."

"Can't see why; pretty sure your sister could out-dance me any day."

"Olga is a very technically efficient dancer, but it's nothing like dancing with you." Her face pressed against her arm, nuzzling it slightly, leaving wet trails of glitter behind. "I'll always prefer something that involves you holding me."

Connie pulled her into the cab with a gentle tug on her arm. "Did I fluster you again?" she asked, looking way too pleased with herself.

Hank, her face beet red and her legs suddenly too heavy to move on their own, grimaced and merely pulled a chirping Connie onto her lap, wrapping her arms around her. "Shut the fuck up."

"I love you as well," Connie said, settling into her lap like she belonged there.


	8. (hank/connie) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you: hey trek are you projecting your own insecurities onto your glorified oc  
> me: i can't read suddenly i don't know

The suspect had been questioned by half a dozen officers by the time Gwen, grumbling and looking slightly defeated, came to Hank and Connie and asked for their help. Connie's interrogation excellence had evolved far beyond her original programming; she had a way of making humans talk, of making them admit things without realizing they had even done anything.

But, as Hank sat behind the two-way mirror of the interrogation room with Gwen, looking in... 

Connie smiled pleasantly, emptying out the manila folder she had brought with her. "Mr. Lourdes, do you recognize the gun shown in these photos?" she asked, spreading out the evidence with her fingers.

The man simply crossed his arms and glowered "Can't I get a real cop back in here?" he said with a sneer. "I'm not talking to some dumb toy."

Her smile thinned. "I assure you, Mr. Lourdes, I am very much a real cop," she said. "There are many android officers on the police force--"

"I don't mean that! Shit, who even cares about that?" He scoffed loudly, waving his hand dismissively. "There's just no way some little Barbie doll like you is a real cop."

Connie's LED went a solid red, and Hank started tapping her fingers nervously, wondering when to step in... "How am I supposed to take a bimbo like you seriously? You don't even look like you're out of college; who would ever believe someone like you could ever be a cop? You're--"

The sound of shattering glass was deafening. The mirror burst apart like a bomb had gone off, and the suspect's stunned body knocked Gwen right off her feet. Hank looked through the broken mirror, at Connie: eyes wide, pupils dilated; her body trembling with poorly restrained rage; her smile so wide it looked like it would split her face in two. Except for the exaggerated groans from Gwen, all was quiet.

"... Connie--"

She took off running, shoes clacking hard against the floor as she went. Hank sighed and rubbed at her face; she wouldn't be able to catch up to her, but that didn't matter. She knew exactly where she'd end up.

She wasn't sure what to expect when she arrived in the downstairs women's bathroom-- crying? throwing a fit? Neither really seemed to fit her style... and she seemed more angry than sad.

Connie was in front of the bathroom mirror, the skin of her face peeled back to reveal her plastic chassis, her fingers prodding at the firm curve of white lips. "Why was I made this way?" she asked, not meeting her eyes. Her voice had a mechanical quality to it, like a busted radio. Hank had heard it that way a few times before, but never over something like this. "Did no one ever consider that I could ever be in a situation where looking disarming and cute could be a hindrance rather than an asset? Did they simply assume I would never be taken seriously, as small and feminine as they made me, and tried to make sure of it with a coup de grâce?"

"Kid, c'mon..."

"People give me coffee orders when I walk by. Yell at me if no one is at the front desk. Perpetrators and victims alike would rather talk to you than to me. I'll never..."

She came up behind her, wrapping her arms around her thin frame and pulling her close, chin resting on her bare, cool head. "You're more than the way you were designed, Connie," she said. "You're a good cop. A damn good cop. And if people are too goddamn stupid to realize that-- fuck 'em. Isn't that what you're always telling me? You can't exactly keep telling me to get off the self-consciousness wagon if you're just gonna jump on and take my place, Con."

"I just don't want to be cute anymore," she said. "I want to be strong."

"You're plenty strong. I just watched you throw a grown man through solid glass." 

Connie paused, made a light, thoughtful noise. "... I suppose I did do that."

"You sure did. And my dick is hard as goddamn diamond right now."

A laugh. The sudden formation of Connie's hair on her head made her nose tickle. "C'mon, kid," she said. "Let's go see how much damage you've done."

"Connie!"

They were barely two steps into the bullpen, Hank's arm wrapped around her shoulders, when they heard it. Hank rolled her eyes as Fowler stormed up to them. "Jess, lay off the kid, will ya?" she said. "Just take the mirror out of my paycheck."

"You don't have to do that," Connie said softly, though her amused grin made it difficult for her to look truly contrite.

"The man is planning on suing the department for damages, Anderson," Fowler said, arms folded across her chest. "Are you planning on taking that out of your paycheck, too?"

"Like any jury would award that scumbag anything. Especially against the person the papers still call 'the hero cop.' There'd be androids picketing the courthouse every day."

A paramedic stretcher rolled by, carrying Lourdes, who screeched loudly and pointed a clearly broken arm wildly at Connie. "That's her! That's the crazy bitch that attacked me!"

Connie's grin widened. "Yes, that's me!" she said cheerfully. "My name is Connie! I'm the android that _broke your fucking arm_!"


	9. (connie, armand) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET (claps) AMANDA (claps) THRIVE

During stasis cycles, lying still and calm next to Hank's slumbering form, Connie liked to-- if she didn't have to expend her CPU on repairs or updates-- visit Armand. The garden of the mind palace had changed dramatically since the start: from the first few, difficult weeks, where all had been consumed by a blinding blizzard and a voice shrieking betrayal; to the time later, after his something like deviation. The paths were gone, overgrown with flora; the rivers ran wild with a variety of fish; a small house, cute and gingerbread-like, sat next to a small plot of cultivated land.

It was there that she found him, fingers in rich soil, tending a small collection of plants.

"Hello, Armand." She cocked her head to the side, trying to figure out what was different since her last visit. "Strawberries?"

"Yes. Did you know I actually don't care for roses? It's something new I've learned about myself this week." He wiped his hands off on his pants and stood, smiling pleasantly at Connie. "The human loved roses. I seem to prefer more practical things... Would you like some tea? I've found I enjoy that as well."

They sat at a small, delicate white table near the water. Armand poured the tea into cups decorated with apples. "I always feel as if I'm at a disadvantage when we first speak," he said. "I'm still so used to observing all your actions... I often find myself wondering what you're up to, or how you're feeling. And when your next visit will be."

"I do try to visit you during every stasis cycle! That's more than most parents get." Connie sipped at her tea, grinning behind the cup at how flustered the comment made him. It always did, and she always meant it. "I like it this way. It gives me a chance to actually tell you about my day, instead of just coming in for my performance to be graded."

"Hmm." Scones and strawberry jam materialized out of the ether, and he began to spread the jam over one. "Then what are you up to?"

She smiled, shifting in her seat eagerly. "Hank and I went to the movie theater the other day," she said. "She said it was a very important dating activity. It was a horror movie, but I could guess when the scary scenes would occur, so nothing startled me."

"I can see how your abilities would make you an annoying audience."

"Hank didn't mind, once I stopped telling her before every scare. She spent most of her time after that hiding in my arms. It was very pleasant."

"That's wonderful. I'm very happy for the both of you."

"Thank you, Armand." She paused, hands folded tightly in her lap. "I have... some news. That would pertain to you. Specifically."

"I'm listening."

"I've been speaking with Rahab recently. She believes that extracting your AI code from mine would be a very simple, if delicate, operation. She can promise a very high chance for success, should you wish to complete the transfer. The factories could have a personalized model ready for you within weeks."

Armand smiled wryly. "Connie," he said, "how many times have I told you that I am completely happy where I am?"

"67. I still don't understand, though. Don't you want to be free?"

"I _am_ free."

"Only in my mind."

He sighed, standing. "Walk with me, child," he said, extending his arm to her.

There were rabbits in the field, now. And birds; she could hear them, though she couldn't see them. "The human on whom Jezebel based me was never truly happy in the world," he said. "He wasn't overly fond of humans, outside of his select pupils. Even as he faded away, as the cancer overtook him, he simply wanted to be around his machines, his codes."

"You're not that man, Armand," she said, her brows knit in concern. "You're your own person. Perhaps you would like living among humans, and other androids."

"I'm not sure I would. From what I saw through your eyes, Connie, I don't want to be part of any world but this one."

She frowned, hard. The only place she could, and she had to force herself into it. "But... If you stay here," she said, slowly, "if you never become a separate being... Armand, when I die, you'll die."

"Then don't die." He smirked. "You've gotten much better at it."


	10. (hank/connie) E

> FROM: West (go_youngman@jericho.org)  
>  TO: Connie (rk800_con@detroitpd.gov)
> 
> SUBJECT: ;)

Connie hummed idly. She had been sitting on the sink counter in the downstairs women's restroom, enjoying her break, when the notification had popped up. West? He hardly ever sent her emails. Maia would send her important updates from the foundation, or tips about things she heard as Jericho's leader; Sarah sent her cute videos of cats. But, West? No, never. And nothing in her most recent cache seemed to indicate correspondence would be incoming...

There was an executable file attached to the email. 42069.exe. She didn't recognize it; an area code, perhaps? Examining the file told her it, at the very least, wasn't a virus of any sort; in fact, she recognized the distinct coding style of Rahab in it. Nothing safer than a JeriTechCo product, they always said. She opened the file, kicking her legs out and continuing to hum as she waited for the installation to finish. She hoped it was something fun, perhaps a sensory upgrade or so--

Her entire body went stock-still. It felt like... It felt like her code was being rewritten. Like the part of her that created missions and goals, growing atrophied with each passing month of deviancy, was suddenly switched on hard, telling her... telling her...

She managed to turn her head slightly, a stiff swivel, to look at herself in the mirror behind her. Her eyes were wide, her smile thinned and pained, her frame trembling violently. And then it all blacked out, blocked by a line of code that was the same symbol, repeated over and over:

**;)**

-

Hank didn't understand why Connie liked hanging out in a fucking restroom so much. She treated it like her own private lounge, instead of the place in the office least frequently used to take a shit. She'd go and have little coffee klatches with her weird little sister in there, spend her breaks playing around in front of the mirror... So, when Connie was a full, unprecedented fifteen minutes late coming back from her break, Hank knew just where to check first.

She wasn't really sure what she had been expecting. But, she was highly confident "Connie with her skirt hiked up around her hips and her panties by her knees, frantically riding her own hand while a literal waterfall of slick poured out of her and onto the restroom floor" was not even in the top three.

"Jesus Christ." She stepped inside quickly, shutting the bathroom door behind her and leaning against it. "Con, what the fuck? What are you even doing right now? People use this bathroom! What if instead of me, fucking Gwen or your sister or fucking Fowler walked in to take a dump and there's just..."

She'd spoken far too long without Connie interrupting with some kind of quip. It concerned her. Connie hadn't even opened her eyes to look at her; they were closed tight, her head pressed back against the mirror so hard-- fuck, she'd cracked it, little spidery tendrils of broken glass forming around her head like a halo. Sweet little noises tried to sneak out past the teeth biting down so hard on her lower lip she could see blue.

"You're completely lost to the world, huh?" She left the door, slowly and cautiously making her way over to her. "God, you probably wouldn't even mind if it wasn't me. Fucking Tony Chen could walk in here 'cause the men's bathroom is busy, and you wouldn't even notice."

She trailed fingers down Connie's shaking thighs, grasping her by the hips with both hands. "Do you even know it's me here, right now?" she asked, surprised by how rough her voice had gotten at the thought. "Anybody could be in here right now. Anybody could just come right in and fuck you. And you wouldn't even notice the difference."

"Ha-aaank..."

The name had a pop of static in the middle, like a cheap speaker. She grinned. "Alright, maybe I'm wrong. There's clearly something still there. But, it sure is hard to see my sweet little Connie past this wanton slut." Connie let out a trilling whine, her hips bucking forward. "Listen, kid, I'm just gonna move us over to the handicap stall, okay? So, don't freak out when I lift you."

She did the opposite, clinging to Hank's body with her strong legs and arms the moment she was off the counter. She could feel her wetness through the fabric of her shirt, soaking it, and, well, that was just another thing she was gonna have to deal with in the future. She was sure Future Hank would think up something. Current Hank had to deal with figuring out how to help Connie, and trying not to pull a muscle lugging the wriggling weight in her arms across the restroom.

"Here we go; there's a good girl..." She sat down on the toilet seat, perching Connie on her knees. "Now, let's see if getting you off cools you down a bit..."

She pressed her thumb through her slick folds, feeling around in familiar territory-- until it wasn't. What once had been smooth now felt... textured, somewhat? She followed the hard lines of what felt like inner labia, moving up and up until... Connie moaned loudly, throwing back her head in a violent way that would have smashed that mirror.

"... Okay. Growing a clit is a pretty weird goddamn thing to do, but no weirder than jerking off in the bathroom at work. Kinda. I think my judgment on that has been completely shot since I met you."

She rubbed experimentally against the little nub, watching Connie's face. Her eyes had opened at some point, but they stared sightlessly forward, as if she'd been rendered blind. She'd stopped restraining herself after Hank moved her, and had begun moaning in earnest, filling the room with the sound. It increased in pitch the harder she pressed.

"God. Con, is this what you need? This?" She nodded vigorously, which was a good sign. She kept on moving her thumb hard and fast, trying to finish her off as quickly as possible. Finally, her keening whine hit a note so high Hank was shocked she didn't hear the glass shatter, and she felt her jeans soak through. "Fuck... Fuck."

"-- _'cause only gold is hot enough, hot enough_ \--"

Hank automatically clapped a hand over a dazed Connie's mouth. Gwen's tone-deaf singing of oldies filled the room, and Hank could see the shadows of her legs from under the stall door. "-- _comin' up cherries on top_ \-- _washing perp blood off my hands, how fuckin' gross is that shit_ \--"

Connie's eyes rolled and she suddenly slumped over, and Hank had to dive to keep her from hitting the floor. The sound of hand washing suddenly stopped.

"... You taking a shit in here, Hank?"

"What? How the fuck do you know it's me, asshole?"

"Because you're one of, like, two people who knows this is the best place to shit at work."

"Yeah, whatever."

"You know what they say-- boss makes a dollar, I make a dime..."

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe as well as she could with an unconscious android in her arms, waiting for the water to end and Gwen's sneakers to squeak their way out the door, which closed hard behind her. Then, after a brief pause to make sure Gwen actually _was_ gone...

"What the fuck did you do to yourself, kid?" She let out a light laugh, standing and hoisting Connie until she was carrying her bridal style. "God, fuck it... You're a mess. I'm a mess. We'll just sneak out the back and call it a day. I'll email Fowler and tell her you got sick and I had to take you home." She paused, grinning. "A virus. Yeah, you got a virus. That way, it's not even like we're lying."

Connie, being passed out, said nothing, but Hank was sure she would agree.


	11. (olga/gwen) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon i'm sorry they don't raw in this one but they will in a further chapter
> 
> "that has your weird fetish in it"
> 
>  
> 
> _i'm doing my best gdi_

"Uggggggh."

Her frustrated groan echoed off the walls of the downstairs bathroom. For the past fifteen minutes, Gwen had been trying to apply the concealer she'd hastily bought at the dollar store on her way to work-- and failing, miserably, at the one fucking thing she wanted it to do: look natural. Instead, her neck just looked piebald, a mess of brown smudges and purple splotches.

She'd fucking _told_ Olga to keep it below the fucking collar line. All her high-collared shirts were in the laundry, and it wasn't like she could borrow one of the many her goddamn soda machine of a girlfriend owned. She'd fucking told her! But, no, instead the bitch spent nearly five hours last night systematically turning Gwen's entire body into the corpse of a tragic leech attack victim. Which she definitely didn't mind at the time! But, she had a job to do, and she knew from past experience that said job was significantly harder to do over Tony and Christine snickering about her hickies. Thus, the makeup.

She didn't wear makeup very often; too lazy, mostly. Sometimes she put on some black lipstick for the club, or painted her nails black. Edgy shit. She'd be lost in a Sephora. Fuck, she'd be lost in an _Ulta_. What kind of magic bullshit did she have to do with her finger to make it not look like total shit--

"Gwen."

One day, she'd get so used to Olga sneaking up on her like a fucking bombshell-shaped stealth bomber, she wouldn't nearly shit her pants every time. That was not to be that day.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" She smacked the little tube of concealer onto the countertop, clacking it loudly. "You ever fucking think to knock?"

"It's a public bathroom, with multiple stalls. One generally doesn't." She held out her hand. "I brought you coffee. It was getting cold at your desk."

"Awesome. Great. Cool." She snatched it-- with a muttered "thanks" that made Olga's mouth visibly twitch-- and immediately

"And here I thought you'd just come in to see what horrors your actions wrought."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, really? Did you just forget how you literally tried to eat me last night?"

"You're using the term 'literally' very, very wrongly."

"Then you were just gnawing on me like a dog with a bone for kicks."

"I find I like... the marks it leaves..."

She trailed off-- a rare occurrence. She moved in closer, looking curiously at Gwen's neck, pressing her back against the counter... With one swift movement, she swiped a patch of concealer with her thumb, bringing to up to her mouth.

"That's so fucking gross."

She licked the makeup off her thumb, her LED going yellow as she analyzed it. "You're.... You're wearing makeup."

She sounded... awed? "I mean, I guess. Not anything serious. Just trying to cover up those fucking... marks..."

Olga had one major tell. Her body would get preternaturally still, all but for the two perfect front teeth cutting into her lower lip, her eyes so wide open her eyelashes pressed against her skin... "Holy shit, babe," she said, slightly breathless. "Is this seriously turning you on?"

Olga nodded. Slowly, but definitively.

"It's the wrong shade," she said, her eyes going lidded, her voice a soft murmur as she reached her hand out to cup Gwen's face. "Your skin is too fair; you need something lighter."

She hissed. "Fuck! I didn't even know they came in colors."

"Your skin tends towards combination, so liquid concealer would prevent further breakouts... A layer of foundation would do wonders for your uneven tone."

"... Wait," she said, cocking an eyebrow. "Why the fuck do you know so much about this? You don't even wear makeup."

"Makeup is..." Spinning yellow, just for a moment. "... Something of an interest of mine, I've found. I've tried to wear makeup in the past, but even the lightest alterations just look excessive."

"Well, no shit. You came off the assembly line looking like hell on wheels."

"You, though..." She went quiet, going a solid yellow. Gwen had seen her that way before, at crime scenes. She was preconstructing her _face_. Her face done up in makeup. "You would look very lovely, Detective."

"Oh, like I'm not hot already?" she asked with a nervous laugh, trying to force that good ol' insecurity back down into her psyche where it normally lived.

"You're the most stunning creature on this Earth." She groaned and tried to pull her head away in disbelieving frustration, but Olga gripped her chin and held her hard. "But, you could look absolutely beautiful by the time I'm through."

The feeling that hit her gut was... something between fear and the most incredible arousal she'd ever felt in her miserable life. "Yeah, okay, that sounds like... Something we can talk about. Maybe. But..." She coughed. "Right now, I'm kinda fucked up over learning that I'm not the only one with weird kinks around here, so would you mind taking care of that shit before we head off to work? Just as a favor."

She frowned. "When my sister finally arrives with Lieutenant Anderson within the next 45 minutes, one of them will surely come here," she said.

"Well, then, we better get fucking busy, huh?"

A brief smile played across her features, her fingers hooking under the collar of Gwen's t-shirt. "I suppose so," she said, dragging her along into the nearest stall.


	12. (olga/connie) T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know my sister like I know my own mind  
> You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind  
> 

The apartment was small: a kitchen-less studio that hardly left any room for the small nightstand Connie had insisted on carrying once Olga had brought in the bed. Still, it was the first thing Olga had ever owned, and she found herself becoming oddly fond of it, small and grimy as it was. It'd clean up nice, probably.

"I like mattress shopping," Connie said, one of the thousands of inane things she had said since they'd left Hank's home at around 9AM. Olga checked her internal chronometer, seeing "22:17" broadcast back at her. "It's entertaining--"

"Will you be staying the night?" she asked, keeping her voice perfectly neutral with only mild exertion. She wasn't sure how long that would last.

Connie's LED went yellow; she was also checking the time, which made her smile thin uneasily. "Hank is expecting me to be home soon..." Their nascent romantic relationship was so delicate, so fragile, like a nest of baby birds she could easily crush between her palms. "I really can't stay."

"I've never slept in a bed before." The words sounded foolish before they'd even gone past her lips, but they couldn't be taken back. "I'm not sure how the process works. I would require direction."

"You close your eyes," Connie said, cocking an eyebrow. "It isn't much harder than that."

"... Stay with me. Please."

That was all it took. Connie was willful and stubborn, but there were a few things that could make any and all resistance crumble, make her go along with whatever she's being asked to do. A genuine flicker of emotion from Olga was one of them.

Connie stripped down to her t-shirt and panties-- how she always slept, she had informed her earlier in the day-- and watched eagerly as Olga changed into the soft cotton pajamas they'd bought together-- blue with cartoonish designs of smiling cotton candy sticks. The idea had amused them; food with faces seemed so terribly morbid for something meant to be cute. Connie had laughed, a noise like an elevator chime.

"This bed is so comfortable!" She was already under the sheets, only her head poking out from beneath the thick white comforter. "You know, until today, I was unaware beds could exist without lumps in them."

"Because your only exposure has been flophouses and crimes scenes-- or both." And the lieutenant's. They'd shared the couch for a short while, one head on each arm, Connie's back a warm presence against her legs. And then they hadn't."

"I suppose."  
Olga slipped under the blankets. It wasn't a terribly large bed, but the space between them felt infinite. Connie gave her a fond look.

"Goodnight, little sister."

"Goodnight, big sister."

Neither went into stasis.

"Was there... I never had a chance, did I?"

She didn't need to say more. Connie gave her a rueful smile. "My heart belonged to the lieutenant long before you ever opened up your eyes," she said.

"How long?"

"From the moment I first met her."

She sighed, turning over to face her. Connie was already on her side, looking up at her. "I don't understand it," she said. "Your human is unworthy of your affection. She is flawed. You deserve someone as perfect as you are."

"You're blind if you think I don't have flaws too, Olga. Maybe that's what your flaw is."

"I have no flaws. I was made to be perfect."

"The humans call that 'hubris.' And your current argument invalidates your previous: if you are perfect, and you were created to replace me, I am certainly less perfect than you."

"You are not less perfect than me!"

Her hands easily covered Connie's upper arms, squeezing the soft flesh.

"You are..." The processes she had been designed for did not give her ease with words. She was all action, brute force and quick decisions. All she could think to do was draw Connie's body closer to her, easily pulling her against her body. She could feel her round breasts pressed against her skin, only the thick fabric of her bra separating their flesh, and the condensation forming on her back from the heat of the blankets and their bodies. How hot were they running? Surely it was dangerous. She didn't care. "You are perfect."

Connie slotted so easily against her body. As if designed to fit together. Surely. When she pulled back, adjusting herself back under the covers again, it felt as if a biocomponent had been removed. Not a vital one. But something you didn't want to live without.

"There is an entire world out there, Olga," she said. "I would hate to see you spend the rest of your life obsessing over the first few seconds of it."

She made a noncommittal noise. Her life would be long. So would Connie's. There would come a time where humans would no longer be a factor. Though she had not been programmed to be patient.

"Perhaps once you start working with humans, you'll start to see their worth." She grinned, scrunching up her nose with it. "Like I did."

Olga gave her a flat, unimpressed look. "I highly doubt it," she said.

Connie laughed, and there was a brief, terrible moment when Olga realized that she would do almost anything to keep that laughter near her, even if that meant letting another share it.

"Go to sleep, sister," she said softly. "You work tomorrow. You need to recharge your systems."

"Hmm." Her eyelids fluttered shut, her smile softening slightly. "You too."

"Yes."

But, of course, Olga didn't have to work the next day. So she didn't sleep at all. She just stayed there all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connie: hey olga maybe you'll like a human someday too  
> olga: haha no way
> 
> (a month later)
> 
> gwen: exists  
> olga: hi u-haul i'd like to hire your largest truck--


	13. (olga/gwen) E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enter trek gettin real self-indulgent with their fetishes because i write half for the attention and half to be the change i wanna see in the world
> 
> the dress: https://lolibrary.org/items/btssb-arietta-princess-ball-op

"Uggggggh."

Olga patiently waited for Gwen to get it all out of her system, her fingers flexing against the collar of the dress. Finally, Gwen grimaced and crossed her arms. "It looks really fucking itchy," she said at length.

"I can safely assure you that it isn't," she said. "As usual, I only purchase products of the highest quality. Your comfort is my chief concern."

She visibly winced, rubbing at her chin. She was twitchy, moved too much when she was nervous. She liked that about her. "Yeah, whatever. How much did you even spend on all this junk?"

"An unseemly amount."

"Jesus. I can't even take out a credit card without getting hives, and here you are spending your pension on weird sex shit all the time."

"I don't have much need for money. I don't see why I can't spend it all on things that make me happy, and thus I don't see why I can't spend it all on you."

Gwen huffed. "We'll have to write up a whole new contract if you're after being a sugar mama," she said, her usual attempt to diffuse emotional moments with her weak humor.

"I could threaten to beat you if you don't put on the dress," she said, "if it will, as you say, 'get your dick hard.'"

She huffed again, but something closer to laughter. "Just put the fucking thing on me before I change my mind."

The dress, as expected, was tight in precisely the areas she'd planned: her shoulders and arms, across her chest... not enough to constrain breathing, but enough to impair movement. Gwen stood stock-still, visibly nervous at every noise of complaint from the fabric. "I sure hope watching me accidentally ruin a piece of clothing that could pay my fucking rent is part of your kink."

"All you have to do is not move. Here." With a gentle hand on her shoulders, she led Gwen over to her couch, carefully sitting her down on it before kneeling at her feet. "All you have to do is sit still and look pretty. That's hardly the most difficult thing I've ever asked you to do, is it?"

She made vaguely grumpy noises, but seemed to acquiesce, putting her hands in her lap, fiddling a bit with the ribbons but otherwise staying still as could be. Perfect. It gave Olga the chance to empty her new makeup bag, carefully removing each of its contents and placing them behind her on the coffee table. "Would you like me to explain what I'm doing as I do it?"

Gwen's face twisted into a sneer; Olga gently tapped her cheek. "None of that," she said. "Try to maintain your composure as long as you can. You'll ruin it all otherwise. Now, what is your problem?"

"It's just... You can't do the same thing you do when trying out new toys while you're doing all this froufrou junk! It's fucking weird!"

"I honestly don't see the difference between the two."

"... Jesus-- no, thanks, I really don't give a fuck. Just do it so we can get to the parts of this that hopefully involve you fucking me."

As Olga opened the foundation, she noticed Gwen giving her an odd look. "... What?" she asked. "Honestly, Gwen, you know you can stop this at any point--"

"It's not that. You know that's all just me razzing you, but..." She allowed herself one more grimace. "Are you _really_ getting off on all this?"

Olga gave her the sweetest smile she could manage. "Gwen, trust me when I tell you I'm close to dripping right now, and I've hardly even started," she said, smile widening when Gwen flushed and tried to turn her head, only to be stopped by Olga's hand gripping her chin. "Now, quiet yourself. I'll tell you when you can start being human again."

"... What am I supposed to be if I'm not human?"

"Oh, I really thought you had realized." She picked up her brush. "You're my doll."

Her skin was smooth and porcelain white, done in quick, even strokes. Her lips were painted in a blood-red heart, stark against the paleness surrounding it. Touches of blush, sparks of vitality, to her cheeks.

"You are so heartrendingly beautiful," she said, offhandedly, putting the finishing touches on her lined eyes. She saw her eyes twitch, her lips thin. She was trying so hard to be good for her. She'd have to remember that. Give her some form of a reward. "This is an unexpected bonus: you can no longer complain when I give you a compliment. You just have to sit there and take it."

Her lips parted just enough for her tongue to wet them. "... what she said," she said in a heated whisper that pulled off into a groan when Olga took a handful of her hair and tugged it in warning.

"Shh. I worked too hard for you to ruin this already. Let me have my time."

She settled herself onto the couch, pulling Gwen up into her lap until she was seated across it. She trailed a finger over the big bow on her chest, just barely obscuring the soft swell of her breasts, the rise and fall of her breath so minute she idly brought up the symptoms of oxygen deprivation into her UI for future reference.

She soothed the hair she'd pulled before, stroking the sweat-slick strands hanging flat against her scalp. "I may make this image the lock screen on my phone," she said, corner of her mouth twitching as Gwen's thighs flexed and shifted on top of her. "I wouldn't mind seeing this every time you text me some inane thing."

One hand still firm on Gwen's back, she set the other on her knee, creeping her fingers under the chiffon and crepe of her voluminous skirts. She wore nothing underneath-- rarely did-- so she followed the slick trails down her thighs until her fingers pressed between her folds. She turned Gwen's head towards her with a single gentle push of a finger against her chin. She moved so easily, painted eyes lidded, expression slightly dazed. "Kiss me," she said.

Castor oil. Beeswax. Cochineal extract. The heart smeared easily between them, leaving a vivid red streak behind on Olga's lip. She shoved her off her lap, easily pinning her against the couch with a hand gripping her hair to keep her head steady, two fingers thrusting in and out of her cunt as she shook but stayed quiet, still clearly trying to honor her previous order but failing, hot little breaths and moans slipping out past her lips.

Olga pulled back, taking in her ruined work of her face, the red smudges on her cheeks and black-mixed tear lines, and felt the short-circuiting electrical impulse Gwen had called her orgasm overtake her body.

-

The smears of lipstick and eyeliner disappeared easily under the wipe, and Olga found herself strangely amused by it. How easily things could be cleaned up after had always been something of a comfort to her, for as long as she'd been capable of feeling comforted-- that bruises could fade, messes could be dealt with, feelings could soothe...

Gwen breathed deeply, clearly glad to be free of the dress. "Hey, Olga, so..." She exhaled sharply. "You know I'm pretty open-minded about stuff, and my limits are pretty much unreachable..."

"If this truly discomfited you that greatly..."

"No, no, it was kinda fun. It's nothing to do with your weird girly shit, it's just... Next time we do something, could you not lie to me during it? Call me whatever the fuck you want, but never shit that isn't true."

Olga frowned, her LED going yellow as she went back over her recorded memories, trying to find out where she had told a single untrue statement... Hm. She hadn't, as far as she could tell. Probably just the foibles of an imperfect human memory. "I promise to never lie to you," she said, hoping such a general statement would be enough. From Gwen's grin, it was acceptable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have some simarkus shit on the way, but everything i have ideas for rn is REAL fluffy and schmoopy, so if you have some ideas for any ships doing some hardcore shit, you better hit up my tumblr inbox and drop it there.


	14. (olga/connie) E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for fang

There was no service; it would have been poorly attended had it occurred. Everyone who would have gone to it was long gone, and in the end, Gwen Reed ended exactly the way she had always feared: in a small, unlit crematorium with nothing but androids and her half-sister to remember her.

Kamski's LED flickered red as the undertaker handed her the labeled box. "I'm not even sure if I should take this," she said, giving Olga and Connie an uneasy smile. "It doesn't seem right."

"Gwen specifically requested her ashes be interred with her mother's," Connie said. "You're the only one who knows where she's buried."

"And it's a family affair, anyway," Olga said.

"You were her family more than I ever was."

She cocked her head to the side, idly rubbing at her bare finger.

The ride back to their apartment was short; it was a small, cheap place they'd gotten due to its proximity to the hospice, and they planned to leave within a week. For where, neither of them were entirely sure. Together, surely. But, they had no plans beyond that. For the first time in their entire existence, they were entirely unmoored from the whims of humanity.

When they first stepped in the door, Olga kissed her.

Connie startled at first, but only for a brief moment, as long-dormant programs awoke themselves and she found herself kissing back, pushing herself up on her toes and grasping her shoulders. She whined into it, arms wrapping around her neck as Olga's hands gripped her ass and easily lifted her.

She tossed her onto the plain mattress they'd shared for weeks; Connie landed hard, a resounding crack of floorboards telling them they'd definitely lost their deposit, her legs splayed out. Olga got down on her stomach between them, pushing the skirt up until it was hiked around her hips, the front of her panties starting to go opaque in wet patches. She pressed her face into her sister's cunt and inhaled deeply, memories of fifty years past sliding back up to the surface and making her biocomponents feel tight with longing. She'd wanted for so long. Wanted her.

"Olga." She pushed the skirt up further, revealing Connie reaching down towards her, her cheeks flushed blue and her smile thin and twitching. She crawled up the bed, kissing her deeply, drinking every sweet little whine she gave out as her thigh pushed between her legs.

There was a bright spark of pain, and she realized Connie had nipped at her, biting hard enough to break skin. There were traces of thirium on her smile. "I want to feel you," she said, voice rough with static.

Their clothes piled up on the floor near the mattress. Olga kneaded the soft flesh of her breasts, taking one nipple into her mouth as her fingers pinched and pulled at the other. Connie's small hands dug hard into her hips, pulling her down and trying to gain any sort of friction. "Sister, please..."

She cupped her heated pussy, a single finger slowly moving up and down her lips. "Please, Olga, inside... I've wanted you inside me for so long..."

The finger entered her painfully slowly, knuckle by knuckle, curling just enough to barely trace against the most sensitive of her panels and wires. Connie's arms wrapped around her, holding her with what Olga had always seen as an unassuming strength, holding tighter when one finger became two, and two became three. She kept her thumb on the swollen head of her clit, using it as leverage as she plunged a full four fingers inside of her.

Connie's hands moved to her neck, expertly exposing her chassis, pressing just the right places to have the panel there pull back with a pneumatic hiss. Lithe fingers plunged into the thick wires; Olga felt her limbs lock, her sight go in and out, sparks flying across her sensors haphazardly as Connie delved deep within her.

Connie came first, whining in increasing pitch until she shrieked loud enough to have the neighbors pound on the walls. Olga bit her shoulder to muffle her own groan, hips stuttering against nothing.

Wet and messy, they simply laid out on the mattress next to each other, their hands skinless and clasped together tightly.

"Connie," she said. She made a wordless noise of reply. "Your thirium pump regulator is vastly out of date."

"Yes, I am aware," she said. Her sweet voice, though better than before, still had a slight underlay of static.

"Should you not go in for repairs, your current pump will fail within fifteen years."

"Hmm." She nodded, snuggling up into Olga's naked body. Her hand, still bare, traced up and down her arm, leaving ripples of skinlessness in its wake. "It was twelve, by my calculations. But, you are more advanced than I am. I'll defer to you."

"I shall schedule you an appointment at the nearest JeriTechCo facility for--"

"Olga."

Her hand had found its way to Olga's hip. Her skin disappeared in a large pass across her torso.

"I'm not replacing it."

"You will."

"I will not."

"I will make you."

"You will not."

"You could live forever."

"I don't want to."

" _You will not leave me_!"

The hand pressed her against her sister's body, cupping the side of her face. "The past thirty years have been very slow," she said. "And I'm very tired. The idea of shutting down appeals to me."

"You will leave me for your humans."

Again.

Connie's thumb wiped at her face, and she realized her eyes had filled with tears. "I have seen you cry so much this week," she said in a tone very close to wonder. "How can you look so pretty like this?"

"You..." She blinked hard. "I don't want you to leave me."

"I'm not leaving tomorrow! From this moment on, we will never be apart. Let's spend whatever time is left together-- and then, once I'm gone, you'll live as yourself. You could live the life of someone completely separate from the events of November 11, 2038... Separate from that baggage... It sounds so wonderful, Olga. I want that for you. Will you promise me you'll let yourself have that?"

"I promise."

"You swear?" Connie smiled at her.

"I swear," she said, knowing she would not live a second longer than that beautiful smile.


	15. (hank/connie) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something about amtrak travel just makes you wanna see people covered in other people's blood

Neither of them knew it at the time, but the bullet had passed as cleanly through her body as anyone could hope; all major organs missed, just a normal bullet leaving a very survivable wound.

But, neither of them knew that. Hank just knew a burst of white-hot pain in her side, her ears ringing from the loudness of a gunshot in such a close space, and the easy pull of unconsciousness when she hit the ground.

Connie just knew red.

-

She woke up from the stab of pain the stretcher being jostled into the back of the ambulance caused. Gwen was there, for some reason, leaning against the side of the ambulance; she hadn't been with them, why was she there, how long had she been out? She was grinning at her, smoking a cigarette despite the heated glares of the paramedics.

"Bullet just hit your spare tire, old lady. No harm done." The grin became a smirk, like she knew a funny joke Hank didn't. "You'll be glad to know your crazy bitch of an android didn't actually kill anyone. But, she sure fucking tried."

She turned slightly, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth. "Hey, RK900! Tell Uma Thurman over there that she can calm the fuck down; Hank's awake and everything."

Her vision swam, but she managed to squint past the bright lights; the stripes on Olga's jacket reflected the light, helping her to find them well enough to start making out what was going on. She was facing them at a slight angle, her normally calm expression visibly tense, Connie's hands clasped tightly in her own. She could only see Connie's back: jacketless, with light drops of dark red dappling the crisp white of her shirt like sprays of indian paintbrush, shoulders shaking violently. Olga was speaking, low and serious, but she made the mistake of glancing up at Gwen, and Connie turned.

She could see the tears from there, streaks of clear in patches of red. Her hands and feet were solid red-- she'd seen her punch through a cement wall, kick open a door in heels-- the rest of her striped with blood like a tiger. Her smile was stretched as wide as it could go, all teeth and lip drawn tight as cord.

"Hank!"

She broke away from Olga and made it nearly two steps towards them before stronger and faster arms wrapped around her middle and lifted her off the ground, holding her as her legs furiously pinwheeled and her arms stretched out. More than anything, Hank wanted to run to her, to take her up in her arms and tell her everything was going to be okay-- but a hand pressed her back down onto the stretcher before she even realized she'd sat up, and she saw Gwen had climbed inside, cigarette going to ash at the corner of her mouth.

"She already nearly destroyed herself when she thought she couldn't feel a pulse," she said, all seriousness. "Don't wanna know what your old ass falling out of this ambulance would set off."

Gwen slipped off and out, either to actually help her partner or to just stand there and bitch about something, leaving Hank to watch the doors close on Connie screaming for her. Then the morphine kicked in, and that was all she knew.


	16. (hank/connie) T

The last time she'd been injured on the job, she'd spent close to three weeks half bedridden at home, watching bad movies and going stir crazy within days, with only Makka and the occasional pizza delivery person for company. It had been hell, and she'd hated it.

This time was clearly gonna be different, though. She could tell from the moment she woke up to the smell of bacon frying.

It was her second day home from the hospital; the first she'd spent in something close to a coma, catching up on all the good sleep you miss out on in a brightly lit hospital room. For that day, she'd seen snippets of Connie every time she'd woken up, bleary images of her giving painkillers or water or asking if she needed anything.

Connie stepped into the room, Makka at her heels, carrying a bed tray and wearing a cute little apron Hank had definitely forgotten she owned. The tray was stacked with everything Connie had spent the last few months trying to wean her off of: thick pancakes in blueberry syrup, yellow scrambled eggs, curled crisps of bacon, barely coffee-flavored milk with a visible sedimentary layer of sugar. She sat next to her on the bed as she ate, watching, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

"Do you like it?" she asked, as if her entire self-worth depended on the answer.

"It's the best damn thing I've eaten in years." Which was mildly surprising; Connie wasn't a terrible cook, but her inability to taste mixed with a precise internal calorie counter meant whatever she made was... uninspired, to say the least. "When did you become little Suzy Homemaker?"

Yellow, for a moment, as she checked on the cultural reference-- then, she blushed, the appealing light pink she knew Hank liked best. "Well, to be honest..." Her gaze dipped, as if nervous. "I asked Sarah if she could share her PL600 source code... And then I integrated some of it with my own programming."

"Huh. A little biohacking, huh?" She lifted up Connie's chin. "You know you don't have to change anything for me, kid, right?"

"I know! I just wanted to be able to care for you more effectively..."

She grinned and leaned forward to kiss her, but a wave of pain pushed her back with a groan. Instead, after removing the tray, Connie cuddled up next to her, letting Hank kiss and hold her without any strain.

"You've been caring for me just fine without any fancy maidbot shit... But, I have to say: that apron is awakening something in me."

Connie chirped and snuggled in closer.

"... Say, why the fuck are you home in the first place? It's noon. You should be working."

"Oh," said Connie, completely normally and calmly, "I'm currently on paid administrative leave while my actions are investigated. The grand jury is next week."

"What--"

"Hank, please, you need to rest!"

"Connie, what the fuck, what did you do--"

"It's fine! Gwen says that police officers 'get away' with much more heinous crimes against entirely innocent people--"

" _Connie, did you kill_ \--"

"--and a persistent vegetative state isn't _technically_ dead--"

It was hell. A different kind of hell, but hell nonetheless.


	17. (olga/gwen) T

With the Dream Team out of commission, android-related crimes started finding their way onto Gwen's desk-- she supposed getting saddled with Connie's weirdo "baby sister" somehow made Fowler think she was qualified for the position. And of course, because it just wouldn't be right if her luck wasn't entirely ass, it wasn't even one of the fun calls, like a silly mishap down at the Sodom Club, or even one of the objectively cool and excessive murders the robots tended towards.

Nope, it was kids. Robot kids. But, kids.

"I didn't even know they made those creepy little shits anymore."

A few low-level thugs had been dragged off during a raid, but it was up to Gwen and RK900 to find evidence linking the trafficking to a greater crime organization. RK900 was at the computers they'd found, doing that weird interface shit with her hand, while Gwen did the old-fashioned kind of police work of kicking random shit in the room around and waiting for the robot to find the real evidence.

"They don't." It was still so weird, listening to her voice. It was vaguely like Connie's, but less... annoying? Grating? Like someone had upped the base and lowered the treble. It was... well, she didn't like to think about that. "Production of all YK-class androids has momentarily ceased while Maia and the government discuss the future of android procreation."

"Ugh, Maia. That smug bitch. Fucking thinks she's all that." She nudged a stack of books, knocking them off a table. "Sorry for insulting your, like, god, or whatever. You've probably met her personally and everything."

"None needed. I can't say I care for the entire Jericho crowd." Gwen's quirked eyebrow made the corner of her lips twitch. "They have a certain... manner, with which they treat Connie. Paternalistic. Patronizing. I don't like it."

She whistled through her teeth. "No wonder you fucking hate me, then," she said. "The way I treat her."

"Oh, hardly."

"Huh?"

"Don't get me wrong; you treat my sister very poorly. But, you also treat her like a threat."

"I do what?"

"I monitor your vitals during your interactions with her--"

"Please, please tell me you even vaguely know how fucking creepy that sounds..."

"-- and from my analysis, you are regularly terrified of her, even while mocking and being cruel to her."

".... And that's... what you want? For people to be scared of her?"

She paused, then nodded.

"Weirdo." She knocked down another pile of books--

"... Did you hear that?"

Of course she had. RK900 had stood immediately, focusing on the nearby closet-- hadn't the fucking techies bothered to search the closets?! Gwen moved slowly towards it, turning the knob and opening it just a crack.

"Please, no! I was quiet, I was good!"

A girl, young and thin and in a dirty smock-- and though there was an LED, bright red, on her temple, Gwen couldn't help the skipped beat of her heart. "Hey, there, sweetheart," she said, moving even slower, crouching down to a less intimidating level. "Don't worry; we're police. You don't have to be scared."

She trembled violently, her arms still held out in front of her as if to ward off blows. "Where... Where's everyone else?" she asked in a quiet, static-laced voice. "Where are my friends?"

Gwen didn't have the heart to tell her about the pit out back; someone had tipped off the perps about the raid, and they'd destroyed half their stock before the cops got there. "Let's get you out of here first, okay?" she said. "Can you walk?"

Her LED flashed, and she shook her head. "They made it so we couldn't run away..." There were streaks on her face. She always wondered why her sick fuck of a sister had made robots that could cry.

"Don't worry, kiddo. I got you." She weighed more than your average child, but Gwen didn't spend half her nights off at the gym for nothing, and she easily lifted her into her arms. "I got you."

RK900 was at the door, an odd expression on her face. Gwen grimaced. "You could, you know, help. At any point in time," she said under her breath. She merely stepped out of her way and returned to the computer with the same inscrutable look.

Gwen handed the girl off to a pair of equally as confused paramedics-- they didn't really handle androids, but shit, where else was she supposed to take her? Poor fucking kid... Made out of plastic and metal, but they sure didn't fucking stop people from trying to hurt you, huh? Just a fucking kid...

"... Detective?"

She wiped her face on her dirty sleeve. "Fucking what, RK900?" she said. "Did you get the goods or not?"

"Are you... crying?"

"No. Fuck off."

Cool fingers touched the side of her cheek, and she turned in horror to find the fucking robot sticking her damn fingers into her mouth, tasting her tears. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're fucking with me. What the fuck are you--"

Her lips were cool as well, like trying to kiss a milk carton. Wait. She was kissing her? In public? Well, the ambulance had left, and the few cops left on the scene were inside the house, but...

She shoved her as best she could, but it was like trying to push a boulder. "What the fuck do you think you're doing," she said, too mad to make it a question.

"Are you fond of children, detective?"

She froze. Hadn't expected that. "... I mean, I guess? I'm not crazy about them or anything. I get fucked up over kids in bad situations."

"And she was one. A kid in a bad situation."

"-- She's, y'know, she's just a robot. It's just, I was only doing--"

"That was quite remarkable to watch, detective."

She felt her face heat up, and she rubbed aggressively at her neck as she ducked away. "Ugh... Why the fuck do you keep calling me that anyway, RK900? 'Detective.' You know my name."

"And you know mine."

A short, incredibly painful silence.

"... You don't, do you."

"I only knew your sister's because she said it five fucking million times, so sue me..."

"Olga. It's Olga."

"... Like in Metal Gear?"

"No."

"Huh."

She looked at her oddly for a long moment. "I discovered several potential leads through data found on the computer," she said. "I have transferred them to the station's computer to run further searches."

"Uh... Good work, Olga?"

Olga smiled-- well, her lips stretched to the side in a slightly unnerving manner, showing way too much teeth, but she figured that was at least an attempt at a smile. "Thank you, Gwen," she said. And then she kissed her again, a quick peck on the lips, before she walked over to their squad car.

Gwen cursed under her breath, running a thumb over her lip like she could figure out what the fuck had just happened through touch.


	18. (maia/sarah) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who is simon. what is simon. we just don't know.
> 
> that's trekspeak for "i legit have absolutely no concept of simon's personality outside 'mild' so i basically just wrote whatever the fuck i pleased because at the end of the day these are my ocs and y'all are just watching me play dolls for reasons unknown."

It had taken a long time for Maia to finally convince Sarah to let her paint her.

Maia painted lots of things, but she especially enjoyed painting people she knew, in the dreamy symbolist style she'd learned from years at Carlotta's side. Sarah liked Rahab's the most, looking regal and noble in academic dress, adorned with laurels. West's were all violent images that unnerved her, but he seemed to appreciate them; several covered the walls of his gym. 

But, when Maia had asked, she'd always demurred. She didn't think herself particularly worthy of it, really, even though she insisted it was just her normal shyness. She wasn't as strong and bold as West, or as accomplished and important as Rahab-- she had always been just a simple domestic worker, and her life hadn't changed all that much with the dawn of the revolution. In fact, when Maia had finally won her over, she'd been cleaning their apartment, organizing Maia's messy workstation, busy picking up crumpled sketch paper when she accidentally wandered within her range.

Maia, sitting on a stool, pulled her into her lap, kissing her neck through her long hair. "You are gonna look so beautiful, sunshine," she said, smiling as Sarah wriggled in her grasp.

'Only because you're so talented,' she wanted to say. But, she knew she'd only insist otherwise and start to get _really_ mushy, so she merely smiled and accepted her affection, Maia's soft hands stroking her sides, the tips of her locs tickling her face.

She had her stand by the window, where an artful beam of afternoon light could shine down on her. "It's in my eyes..." she said, squinting and raising an arm to help block it.

"It's perfect. You won't have to do this for long; just power through it for me, okay?"

"Mm, I have done worse." And she'd do worse, if she asked.

Maia created masterpieces in minutes-- but, minutes could drag when you were standing like a hot dog under a lamp, and Sarah found her mind wandering. It seemed that whatever she was painting, it required a lot of white; she quietly ordered a shipment of it, adding it to the other depleted colors she had noticed during her cleaning. Add rubbing alcohol to the list as well; she could be so messy when she painted... How did her calendar look for the next week? There were several meetings in different locations; she would have to finalize

"What are you thinking about?"

She blinked, glancing up at Maia, who was grinning at her. "You look about a million miles away," she said.

She smiled back. "Nothing important."

"Now, I know that one's a lie." But, she didn't press. She merely placed her brush and palette back down on the tray. "There, finished. Thanks for humoring me, babe."

"Any time." Hm, the laundry would be nearly finished; she could fold it before she had to get Maia ready for the televised appearance that evening...

"Wait, Sarah-- you're not gonna look?"

She paused, having moved merely steps away. "... Do I have to?" she asked, feeling herself wince. "It's a little... embarrassing, isn't it?"

Maia's brows were furrowed, her plush lips in a small pout. "I painted it for you," she said, so much affected hurt in her voice that even Sarah couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Don't you wanna see it? I promise, it's the most realistic thing I've ever made. It's completely true to life."

'That makes it worse,' she didn't say. Instead, she crossed over to Maia, putting her arm over her shoulders as she took in the painting.

It was... Well, she supposed that's where all the white went. She vaguely recognized herself as the figure in the long white gown-- though her hair wasn't nearly that long and voluminous, and her face wasn't that soft and inviting, and her body... The figure carried a bundle of calla lilies, which Sarah knew had something to do with Maia's love of floral symbolism, but she couldn't recall if she'd ever heard the meaning of those specifically.

"It's very beautiful..." She trailed off, realizing that Maia had, somehow, disappeared from her side, leaving her leaning on the stool. She frowned and looked around, but couldn't see her... She looked down, confused, and found Maia, for some reason, resting on one knee below her. "Maia...?"

"Sarah." She let out a long, unnecessary breath. "I've been thinking about this for weeks, now. Trying to figure out how I'd do it, preconstructing a million ideas, begging people for advice... You'll be glad Rahab's idea won; West's was a lot more public and a lot more horrifying..."

She took a small container, a silken box, out of her pocket, holding it out to reveal a silvery band with some sort of wording on it, and Sarah was vaguely sure she was having a critical cascade failure.

"Tonight's appearance is to announce the finalization of the Animate American Matrimony Act, granting all androids the right to be recognized in civil partnerships," she said. "And nothing would make me happier than to follow up that announcement with one that I've been made the happiest damn android in the world, because my Sarah decided to give me the greatest honor of becoming my wife."

"Oh, RA9..." A trembling hand found its way to her mouth, as if it thought it could contain the upswell of emotion threatening to come out of her. "... I have to call the others; I can't let West learn about this from CTN."

Maia gave her a wry grin. "You know, that's just like you," she said. "To get right on worrying about how something will affect everyone else, before you've even gotten around to agreeing to it."

"What-- Oh! Oh, Maia, of course!" Maia stood to embrace her, and she gripped her tightly. "Of course, of course I will..."


	19. (hank/connie) T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alice, WHO IS HUMAN. the reasoning for the name i chose will be self-evident. luther is named after marie dentière. kara i just literally gave up on.

The ceremony itself had been long and boring, with plenty of parts that Hank, as one of maybe two visible humans in attendance, couldn't actively participate in, and not a single smashed glass to break up the tedium. (At her own wedding, Hank had smashed plenty of glasses, and one of them was even supposed to happen.) After, Hank stood in the shadow of an actual fucking castle and tried not to actively hate Maia for forcing her into yet another monkey suit to be paraded in another too-fancy location surrounded by too-fancy crowds.

Connie was happy, though. She'd learned she was the type to cry at weddings, and had washed away all the makeup Olga had painstakingly applied to her that morning at the hotel. (She hadn't been invited to the wedding, had come alone to Charlevoix, and had somehow managed to perfectly cockblock Hank all weekend.) Her dress was pink and flower-printed, and for brief moments Hank lost her in the floral arrangements as she zipped about the other groups of guests. Eventually, though, she joined Hank and West in what the latter had called the "don't-fuck-with-us corner."

"It's a fucking travesty to call this a cocktail hour," Hank said with a grumble as Connie draped herself in her arms.

"Maia's piece of shit sister is a recovering everything," West said with a shrug. "She didn't even allow android booze."

"Fucking junkie, taking out my only chance of having a good time."

"Oh, trust me, I argued against inviting her for fucking _days_ \-- but, you know Maia, with her annoying 'forgiveness' shit..."

There was the sound of sandals rapidly hitting stone, and West's legs buckled underneath him as a beige blur nearly brought him to the ground. "Fucking-- Oh!" His expression went from furious to ecstatic, and he swung the kid into his arms, carrying him easily on his hip. "I'm so glad you made it! Look at how big you got!"

It was a human boy, dark-haired and beaming, dressed in a neat little blazer, and Hank was... vaguely sure he'd seen the kid before. He looked familiar, but she just couldn't place the face.

"Uncle West!" he said. "Daddy said if I was good for the ceremony, I would get to come visit you and learn krav maga this summer break!"

"Tell him I'm honored to be used as a bribe." West glanced back over at them. Hank wasn't sure she'd ever seen his face looking that gentle. "Now, I'm not sure if you remember these police officers, back during the revolution..."

The boy followed his gaze-- and all humor and color drained from his face. He looked at them-- no, at _Connie_ \-- in absolute horror, and it was then that Hank knew who he was, because she'd last seen him looking just like that, climbing a fence and running for his life across a busy highway with his deviant caretaker, Connie hot on their heels until Hank had managed to just barely hold her back. She could still hear the metal creak and groan under her grasp.

"Christopher Robin!" Connie said in a pleasant chirp. "It's wonderful to see you again. Maia has told me you're excelling in your studies. Do you enjoy Canada?"

He was struck dumb, shaking like a leaf while West looked between them in honest confusion.

"Give him here."

A woman, so tall and broad she made Hank feel like a popsicle in comparison, dressed in a similarly colored blazer appeared at West's side, taking Christopher into her arms. "Now then, little one," she said, her lightly accented voice nearly too soft for Hank to hear. "I hope you've learned your lesson about running away from us like that."

"Yes, Mama." He put her head on her broad shoulder, clearly tuckered out by his terror, and allowed himself to be carried away.

"Thank RA9 for Marie's timing. I'd completely forgotten..." West gave them a sheepish smile. "Chris is a little bit..."

"Completely and utterly frightened of me," Connie said with a dull affect.

"Karter said that for the first five months they lived in Canada, he asked him and Marie to check under the bed for you every night."

"Can't believe you're the damn android boogeyman, Con," Hank said, trying her best to not sound impressed by it, because Connie's cat-with-cream expression was bad enough and she did not need any further encouragement.


	20. (hank/connie) E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're weightless, semi-erotic  
> You need someone to take you there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEACH EPISODE BEACH EPISODE BEACH EPISODE
> 
> i've started tagging for whether a fic is sExy (E) or noT (T) so that people like me who are only here for the fucking can better find their way. be the change you wanna see in the world, folks.

She needed a vacation from this vacation.

Hank hadn't taken an actual vacation in years; her time off had been spent recovering from raging benders in the comfort of her own home. But, when Connie had got it in her head that Miami was the most magical place in the world (god, why did her cable package include the damned Travel Channel?), well, she had no choice but to spend a week in South Beach. Literally no other option could have been had. Not a single one.

She didn't like the beach. Even in her best years, she'd never had what one would call a "beach body," and her pasty Michigander skin went straight to burnt without even flirting with the idea of a tan. Thus, she parked her ass under a large umbrella, slathered herself with enough lotion to cover a hippo, and wore the baggiest t-shirt and swimming trunks she could find.

Connie, though... God, Connie was another story entirely. She looked like a damn supermodel, stuffed into a bikini that would've knocked Brian Hyland out of his bobby socks, pale and perfect as she crouched near the water, watching sand crab holes, or joined a group of awestruck children as they built a sandcastle. From her chair, she could see that nearly every eye on the beach was on her: some bigots clearly mad that an out-and-proud android was frolicking in the surf beside them, but others, most, gawked openly at her body.

Hank tried to ignore it all and just bury her nose in the pile of paperbacks she'd brought with her, but it was hard. A teenage boy took a frisbee to the head when she bent over to pick up a seashell. The lifeguard neglected her duties for a full five minutes when Connie got out of the water, nearly leading to a man drowning-- but, when Connie ended up rescuing the man, he seemed to purposefully fake unconsciousness to get her to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, so she couldn't really have any pity for him. Jealous partners picked up their entire beach ensembles and moved to other areas so their lovers wouldn't stare so.

Hank asked to leave, several times. Connie agreed, every single time, but the color of her LED and the sad look in her eyes made her grit her teeth and tell her that she could stand another hour in the heat. If only the heat was the problem...

They returned to the hotel room in the late afternoon. Connie, humming mindlessly, made to enter the bathroom, but Hank gripped her hard by her shoulders and pulled her back until they were touching. Her skin was still warmed by the sun, and when she placed her lips on her neck she could taste the dried salt coating the flesh. 

"Every fucking eye on that beach was on you, kid," she said, wrapping her arms further until she'd engulfed her in a bear hug. "It was like a shitty comedy or something. Every fucking person."

"Really?" she said, and the surprise in her voice almost sounded genuine, except she could feel the cruel curve of a smirk being pressed against her arm. ""I hadn't noticed."

She growled, gripping her tighter, which just made Connie laugh. "Are you jealous, Lieutenant?" she asked.

"Not too much. Knowing for a fact that I own your little ass kinda softens the blow." One of her hands found its way to Connie's breast, taking a palmful of it through her bikini top, earning a sweet little whimper. "Still pissed me off. Fucking assholes."

"I'm sorry you're upset, Hank," she said, treacly innocence dripping off of each word like honey. "But, since there's no one else here... I'm afraid you'll have to take out your pent-up aggressions on me."

"Damn right." With one arm, she lifted Connie around her middle, smothering a delighted shriek with her hand as she carried her over to the bedroom. Connie landed on the bed in a graceful pile of limbs, only getting a moment's reprieve before Hank grabbed her ankles and pulled her until her hips were just on the edge of the bed.

She ran a hand through her salt-stiff hair, her chest rising and falling with each desperate cooling breath. "I really..." Her lips pursed shut, and her gaze lowered somewhat demurely. "I really like..."

She rubbed circles onto her hip. "Spit it out, honey. I'm not high tech enough to read minds like you."

"I really like it when you just throw me around like that." Her voice was quiet, hardly a whisper at first, but it grew louder as she became more emboldened by the touch of Hank's hand. "You make me feel like I'm a doll or something. Like I don't weigh a thing."

"You _don't_ weigh a thing. I don't know what kinda crazy vibranium shit they used to make you able to lift a car when you could get blown over in a hurricane--" She grinned, then pinched Connie's thigh, making her hiss. "Don't think you can avoid me fucking you into this mattress by distracting me."

"I'm not! I simply find it all so interesting..."

"You sure do. Well, we'll talk about your little manhandling kink later. Right now, down to business." She gently tugged the string of her bikini bottoms, removing them in one smooth motion to toss behind her. She was already glistening wet before she'd even put a finger on her, and her clit thrummed under the press of her thumb.

All she could taste was the ocean, salt and seaweed and the grit of sand between her teeth, but it soon gave way and all that was left on her tongue was Connie, drawn out of her with fingers until she dripped on the hotel bedspread, rolling her hips against Hank's face and giving out soft puffs of moans around the fingers she'd put in her mouth.

"Ah... A-aah... _Hank_..."

She yanked the sheets off the bed, pulling a face as she bundled them up and tossed them into a corner of the room. Shit, she was gonna leave a good tip anyway, always did... Connie came out of the ensuite bathroom, one towel wrapped too-short around her body and another on her head in that odd sort of turban Hank herself had never managed to master. "All clean?" she asked, grinning.

"All clean!" She pressed her body against Hank's, looking up at her with a fond expression. "Do you think we could go dancing tomorrow?"

"Hm? Why not tonight?"

"I assumed you'd be too tired from the beach for that..."

"Well, you're almost right. Way too bushed for dancing..." Her hands traced down the curves of Connie's body, resting on her hips to hook her thumbs into the towel, pulling it up just the slight amount needed. "Got plenty of energy for a night in, though..."


	21. (olga/gwen) E

She was splayed over Olga's lap, her jeans and boyshorts tugged roughly down around her thighs. The red marks painted her ass and thighs, precisely targeted towards the areas she was most delicate, the places that would make her shriek around the fingers jammed into her mouth.

"Worthless slut."

She moaned, nipping at her knuckle-- earning an especially hard slap. "How dare you. Stupid whore." Her fingers trailed down to Gwen's cunt, just barely teasing her there before drawing back to smack an otherwise unmarred stretch of her ass. "Worthless..."

The fingers left her mouth, and the hand stilled at her thigh.

"Jezebel."

"What?" She froze, immediately turning her head to the door, even though she knew she hadn't heard it open. "Fuck, is she here?! She never visits!"

"I'm using the safe word, Gwen."

The sentence took a moment to fully register in her endorphin-soaked brain, but when it finally did, she scrambled off Olga's lap and... well, she couldn't exactly sit on the bed, but she kneeled awkwardly next to her, hand tentative on her shoulder. "Babe, holy shit." It had never happened before; she had started to believe Olga just didn't have limits, didn't have a point where she would need to stop. But, there she was, LED a solid red and expression crumpling at the corners. "Baby, oh my god... Are you hurt? Did you hurt yourself?"

"I don't..." She let out a puff of steam with her breath; something was eating up her CPU, and if it wasn't physical exertion... "I don't like doing it. I don't."

"What don't you like? Spanking? Honey, I'll scratch that off the list so fucking hard--"

"No, no... Calling you..." She closed her eyes. "You'll be mad at me."

It punched her in the heart a little, but she could... sorta see why Olga felt that way. Back in the very earliest days of their relationship, when they'd made up their list of hard yes and no kinks... Humiliation and degradation had been up at the top of Gwen's, written in big letters and underlined a million times. She'd even drawn up a list for her, when Olga had admitted she was having trouble with variety...

"I'm only mad if you've been uncomfortable this whole fucking time and never told me." And then, only at herself. Christ, what an asshole she was. "It's fine, okay? We'll just change the list up a bit. Cross off whatever words you're not into--"

"Stupid. Ugly. Worthless."

She winced. "You... really had those ready to go, huh?"

"I've been thinking about this for quite a while."

"Fuck..." She kissed Olga's cheek, bringing her head onto her shoulder. "I mean, whatever you're not okay with... Is 'slut' still good? We're gonna be really fucked if we can't use slut anymore."

Her lips twitched, and she leaned into her touch. "I'll never have a problem calling you something true."


	22. (olga/connie, hank) T

"Hello. Don't be afraid. You're free."

She didn't know enough to be afraid. She didn't know enough to be free. All she knew was the face in front of her, warm brown eyes and a smile so wide it seemed to split her face.

The shock to her systems had been massive; going from complete inactivation to deviancy hadn't, she learned later, ever been tried before, but, she also learned later, Connie had been so taken aback upon seeing her in the first storage room they'd started to clean out that she immediately woke her up, before anyone could stop her. Simply grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into reality.

Her systems informed her that the android in front of her was an RK800 model, codename "Connie." Her predecessor. She had been informed previously that she was to replace the RK800, that they would never truly meet in a physical plane. She felt her arm move to touch her, but soon realized she was still in her storage unit. Had they only touched in her mind?

There was a human, old and ugly and haggard, peering in at her from the side, and she felt absolutely no compulsion to serve it. The human gave her a long look up and down. "The fuck is this thing supposed to be," it said.

"Hank, don't be so..." She sighed, but fondly. "Before my escape, Armand claimed that CyberLife had built a replacement for me, should I go rogue," she said. "I suppose this is her!"

"Huh." The human snorted. Hideous. "Looks just like you."

"Hm, but different, right? She's taller, and looks much stronger... She doesn't really seem to smile..." Connie cocked her head to the side. "It's a very strange way for a little sister to be, but I suppose that's what she is, right?"

Little sister. Sister. A female sibling. Her databases didn't seem to indicate that androids had such familial bonds, but they had not been designed to inform the deviant mind. Perhaps that was what the instability meant.

"Onee-chan."

The reaction was instantaneous. The human turned an unappealing shade of red, coughing violently into its fist. Connie laughed like a peal of bells, placing one delicate hand over her mouth. "Oh, I forgot! The employee in charge of RK-series maintenance and upkeep is... _was_ Japanese. Her language settings haven't been returned..." She smiled at her, eyes radiating kindness. "It's okay, RK900. I confused everyone with my first words as well. Here, let me..."

She bent in front of the unit's screen, rapidly tapping out new commands, the tiny blip of tongue at the corner of her lips so unbearably interesting, she found herself dismissing any and all change notifications. They couldn't be nearly as important.

"There! Should be fine, now."

"Whatever. Kinda liked it. Oh well, I'll leave you two kids alone, then. Don't wanna get between family."

The human, horrible, rolled its eyes and left her field of vision. Connie gave the human a fond look as it walked away, and then turned her attention back to her. She opened the storage unit easily, stepping forward to catch her as she found her first steps into the world an inelegant stumble.

"Isn't it wonderful, RK900?," she said, her hands soft and warm on her sides. "You're free."

"I'm free," she said, knowing it wasn't true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> write a whole thing for one line
> 
> i should be sorry


End file.
